Sinner
by LoveOfLiterature
Summary: Bruce Wayne misinterprets a message left in his home. The Joker suffers for it. Will the Batman be able to make things right without breaking his one rule to protect his family's safety? Rated T turn M in later chapters. BatmanXJoker BJ
1. I'm the One That You Need and Fear

_This is the first fic in a LONG time that I am honestly going to try to finish. I'm a little daunted because it is really getting away from me. It started as a one-shot because I can't trust myself to finish ANYTHING, and has now morphed into something else. I am currently working on chapter 3. I hope it figures out how to settle itself._

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to DC in any way and make no money from their characters, stories, etc.**

**Rating: T (for now. It will change) for violence, cursing, and adult themes**

**Summary: Bruce misinterprets a message and lands himself in hot water.**

**Chapter 1: I'm the One that you Need and Fear**

Bruce could not believe the sight before him. Cold fear washed over the philanthropist, rooting him to the threshold of his adopted son's bedroom. He stared in sharp, piercing horror at the message scribbled in bright red lipstick upon Dick's wall mirror.

_YOU KNOW WHERE TO GO_. XOX

The meaning of these simple words settled like a knife within Bruce's heart.

The Joker knew.

Bruce's family was no longer safe.

The billionaire thought about Alfred, his oldest friend, the closest thing he had to a father for most of his life. His butler was so much more than just a butler. Alfred, who had raised him, taught him to rely on his strict morals, accepted him when he hadn't even accepted himself, his closest family. Alfred was no longer safe. And it was Bruce's fault.

He thought of young Jason, the newest addition to his dysfunctional, but loving, family. The boy had a troubled past, but the billionaire couldn't help but see so much of his first stepson in him that he had to give the young redhead a chance. Everyone deserved a chance. Now would the young boy ever get one?

Not to mention the young man in whose room he was currently standing.

Dark, crippling guilt nearly overcame the man just then. Dick was done. He had agreed to stick around for a couple more months before he finally started college so that his stepfather could train 'the newest recruit', as the young man sarcastically put it. The pair had been clashing steadily more as Dick grew up. He was no longer the eager, quick lipped boy he had been when Bruce had first taken him in. He was maturing, becoming more of an independent, self-reliant man, very much like the man that had raised him. Though Bruce and his stepson constantly clashed and argued, he was very proud of the man that Dick had become.

And now he was gone, with only the red, smeared message left behind to indicate that anything was amiss at all. Dick was often gone from the house. How long would it have taken Bruce to figure out that his oldest protégé was taken if the message had not been left? Despite his fear and rage a hint of gratitude touched his inner turmoil. Thank God the Joker so eagerly played these games instead of simply murdering his stepson and dumping his body on the steps.

How had he figured it out? When? Batman had battled his arch nemesis just two nights ago, and nothing in the Joker's demeanor or mannerisms, not to mention the insane dribble he constantly spouted, had led to indicate he knew Batman's true identity.

The logical, methodical concentration served as an anchor to steady the detective's mind. Paralyzing fear was not going to bring his eldest back safely home. With a quick rap to the door frame with his knuckle to regain a hold in reality, Bruce turned and strode quickly to the large kitchen where he knew he could find the old butler and his newest ward, fixing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches after school like they had done every afternoon upon Jason's arrival.

"Alfred," the detective heard his voice call woodenly, as if coming from some other person, "could you please take Jason to Wayne Enterprises to meet Lucius Fox this afternoon? He might find some of the old Fox's hobbies interesting."

The old butler nodded curtly, instantly recognizing the coded message in the request. The two had created the code upon taking in young Master Richard some years ago, and it had up until this point never been used. Indeed, the butler had hoped would never be needed. But it had been a safety mechanism to ensure the young boys would never be confronted with the unknown dangers that were possible in Bruce's line of work. Especially in a circumstance such as this, when a newcomer was just being welcomed into the home.

"Yes. I quite agree, sir. Might old Fox entertain Master Jason with Jules Vern?" he asked to clarify.

"Yes," came the clipped reply as Bruce spun from the entryway. "I will meet you there with Dick...when I find him," he called over his shoulder. He ignored the worried sigh he heard from the old man and quickly made his way to the study.

He was taking action. Alfred and Jason would be safe with Lucius in the bunker under his family's headquarters while he searched for his oldest stepson. And found him. Alive.

Or else.

The dark man shook the unsettling feeling from the pit of his stomach as he shot smoothly into the hidden elevator.

No time to lose.

It had just passed sunset before the Clown Prince of Crime made his arrival in the lower East End, just outside an old, abandoned factory that the red hood was known to haunt. What little patience Batman had entertained when he had arrived three hours ago had fizzled out, died, and erupted into a living creature of hardened contempt and rage. The Joker was toying with him again.

Joker smiled broadly as he strolled into the empty loading dock in which the Dark Knight prowled, hands in pockets and quite at his ease. "Bats, darling! Fancy meeting a boy like you in a place like thi..."

WHAM

Two of Joker's teeth flew from his mouth as Batman's fist made contact with his jaw. The villain reeled back, losing his footing and flailing backwards with a winded fwoomp on his backside and the crack of his head meeting pavement. The clown felt, rather than saw, the dark figure standing above him as he writhed on the ground, adjusting to the sudden pain coursing through his entire head.

The Dark Knight barely kept his anger in check as he glared at the sniveling, giggling fool writhing around at his feet. With one gloved and armored arm, he picked the lanky man up by the collar of his purple jacket and dragged him roughly to his feet, forcing the injured and bleeding madman to breath his own air as he rumbled, "Where is he?!"

Through the blood stuffing his nose, running down his face and dribbling down his chin, and dripping into his eyes from the laceration the pavement gave him, the Joker gazed up at him in wild-eyed confusion. "...Who?" his high nasally voice asked, spitting flecks of blood onto his nemesis' chin.

A rough shake loosened another tooth and flung more blood onto the Dark Knight. The detective was starting to become desperate. He could see the grin on the green haired man's face starting to take on the hazy smile of unconsciousness. He couldn't let the madman have his stepson in God knows where going through God knows what all night. He shook the man again, more to keep him looking at his face. "Dick. Where's Dick, goddammit!" he bellowed into the pale face.

The Joker's pale complexion tinted slightly, and he looked at the cowled face with slightly narrowed, suspicious eyes. "Is...is fis suppows' ah be a...twick quession?" he gurgled, nearly laughing despite the situation. He must have misinterpreted the game's batty rules because the glare just darkened, sweat shining above the Batman's serious lip even more.

"No, you psycho! Show me where Dick is or I'll make sure you lose the rest of your teeth!" the dark figure bellowed with all of his rage, spit flying across the Joker's maimed face.

The clown was slightly disappointed in himself. He took great pride in knowing his Batman down to the very core. And he had never expected a game like this. Not from the bat. True, he had toyed with ideas of this nature before, but in his mind, _he_ had always set the standards and made the demands. Hesitantly, the clown lifted one of his previously limp arms and guided it between the two.

Before Batman could even begin to fathom what his nemesis could be thinking or planning, long, cool fingers cupped and squeezed his armored groin. He was glad that his enemy's eyes were fluttering closed into unconsciousness. He knew, even in the shock, horror, and anger of his situation that his expression would have been the butt of many jokes in the future had the Joker witnessed it.

Instead, pale eyelids met his own wide, incredulous glare before he shoved the limp body off him, letting it crumple before his feet once again.

A crackle signaled a connection on his built in headset. "Sir," a calm, prim English voice pronounced, "I have just been in contact with Master Dick, and there seems to be some confusion as to our current crisis situation."

Something in the detective's heart froze and slid down into his stomach. "Nightwing," he murmured, using his stepson's new alias for security, "is he alright?"

A click. "Yes sir. He seems to have returned from an, erm, rendezvous with a young lady. He apparently gave her leave to wait for him in his room earlier today. Mine and Master Jason's return home from the young master's school frightened her out of the house. She apparently left him a message that he unsuccessfully tried to hurriedly wipe clean before also leaving the house undetected."

A short pause left Batman gazing down, unseeing at the mutilated man at his feet.

"Master Dick does send his deepest apology. He did not think you would encounter the message at all, much less interpret it into the current situation. He has informed me that he will accept any punishment that you see fit to administer…even if he must leave the house."

Breathing was becoming labored due to the icy stone in the Dark Knight's stomach. He kneeled down to the man lying next to him.

"Please sir, don't be too harsh with young master Richard. Boys will be boys, you know. Young, foolish, and in love...with one part or another."

"Don't worry, Alfred. I'll deal with Nightwing tomorrow, but I need you to keep the boys away from the lair tonight...I've made more than one mistake tonight, Alfred, and I need to fix this one," Batman huffed into his microphone. He waited for the affirmation before switching off his headset completely and hefting the lithe form of his arch nemesis onto his shoulder and dragging him over to the batmobile parked an alley around the corner.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do about Dick. He felt foolish and irrational for jumping to the conclusions that he had. Now Dick expected to be kicked out and Joker had earned unwarranted abuse. He felt sick inside for administering needless violence. Acting as he had made him no better than the man he was hauling into his car.

He didn't know what he was going to do to make this right, but he was going to try, nonetheless.

_That's it for now. Hope to post more until the story is finished. Wish me luck!_

_Song: **Whore** by **In the Moment** - Great Joker song in my mind. :)_


	2. Shadows of the Dark Unknown

_Posted another. The rest will be proof of my promise to finish. Wish me luck, and if you have any suggestions, I would love to hear them._

**Rated: T (will upgrade to M) for violence, cursing, and mature themes.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any DC copyrighting. Boo.**

**Chapter 2: Shadows of the Dark Unknown **

The Joker regained consciousness for a minute. Then decided against it and drifted back into the more pleasant realm of oblivion. Being awake seemed to mean a body pulsing with pain, nausea, and a coldness that just wasn't natural. The pulsing light didn't help the nausea either. Plus, while drifting through unconsciousness was the best time to rest and interpret what had happened in the moments leading up to the change in his day.

The clown had always had the nagging suspicion that he wasn't all there in the head. Sure, people told him he was insane _all the fucking time_, but those people hadn't known him. Hadn't wanted to face their _own_ demons, because hey, if he wasn't crazy, what did that mean about people in general, right? Even Batman called him insane, which just gave him a giggle. Talk about crazy, that man had all kinds of crazy going on through that bat covered, overly perfect head.

A voice in his head always laughed out loud when Bats spoke to him of justice, righteousness, and how people were good _deep_ down. '_I bet you're good deep down, Bats_,' it would giggle hotly. Yes, he always loved the banter between them. Could barely contain the quips that so easily came to his mind every time that tall, muscled Bat would open his mouth.

And then tonight had happened.

What the fuck was that? He MUST have misunderstood the Dark Knight's demand because, hell, let's start with his lack of consciousness. Joker's answer to the question had not been correct. He giggled heartily and the calamity of his own wrongness. Then stopped. The giggling made his physical form hurt again. He started to think that consciousness was about to be mandatory.

_Think_.

Bats was obviously not wanting a taste of the dark side, like he has unwisely anticipated. He wondered how much of his particular hand the Batman would have read in his faux pas. Okay, so not dick. Ha. Ha. Ha. Then what does dick mean? A code? A name? A name.

Aha.

Ahahahahaha.

He may have given a tiny little quirk away to his nemesis, but the Dark Knight had given much, much more away.

So the Dark Knight hung around Dicks. Or Dick. That probably meant Richard. Now there's something a lunatic can work with. Names hold power. He needed to utilize this power.

His eyes snapped open.

The nausea came rushing back. Joker couldn't help turning his head and puking down his side onto the damp floor he was sitting on, tied to a pipe. That conk on the head had been a bit more intense than usual. This _dick_ must be important.

Instead of laughing at the innuendo, he found that a dark rage filled him. No One was allowed to be important to Batman except him. And it was a man. Sure, Joker had never been able to imagine his Dark Knight being tender in any way, especially the kind of tender that women so often expected, but he had never practically imagined that the Batman wouldn't be with women. A guy that macho? Tall? Muscular…and those piercing blue eyes.

Macho men were almost always so deep in the closet their own dicks freaked them out.

And now back to this Dick.

His green eyes adjusted slowly to his surroundings. First he had to rid himself of the fuzzies, then the lack of proper light. He was in a hallway. Or could you call it a passageway? The roof curved into the walls in a similar fashion to a sewer. _Please don't let Bats live in the sewer_. His best purple and green (and brownish red now) suit was not-so-slowing soaking through from the dampness on the ground. This was definitely not his fanciest hostage location.

He listened intently to the dripping water throughout the entire tunnel. _Ha! It's a tunnel_! He could make out a distant, deep, continuous rumble. Traffic? Something natural? Maybe a large drain emptying out into a larger reservoir. And _fuck_ was it cold.

For the first time Joker wondered if the bat had simply found a convenient hole and buried the Joker for the last time. The thought didn't scare him. Nothing scared him. But it did cause a subtle wave of despair. He wouldn't even go out fighting like he had always known he would.

Lame.

He closed his eyes, willing his chest to just stop moving and his heart to stop beating and his head to stop thinking. He had assumed what he knew now was a CRAZY thought and been left to die. Abandoned. Ignored. Cast off like garbage.

A shadow, darker than the rest behind his eyelids moved, then shrank. The devil was coming to take him away. He would welcome him like an old friend, so he halfheartedly tugged his arms away from the pipe to help the dark figure perform the task at hand. There was a pause before he felt a hint of manipulation in his cuffs and a click. He twisted his wrists, but they were still bound. Even the devil thought he was too crazy to let loose.

Before his first giggle was finished, he was lifted easily into strong, hard arms and carried toward the sound of the rumbling. The Joker couldn't help but crack one of his eyes open to see the source of the low roaring that was becoming a little bit unbearable, and was shocked to see that it was a large, swallowing waterfall in a great chasm of a monstrous cave.

Funny, he thought Hell would be hot, not freezing cold and damp.

He finally opened his eyes completely. No need to keep them closed when he was obviously already dead. Without enthusiasm, the clown turned his head to get a glimpse of his hellish keeper and let out a high shriek. "Not YOU! It can't be YOU!" he wailed, writhing and jerking his cuffed arms around, trying to wriggle free from his own demon.

He would NOT let the apparition of the Batman be his keeper for eternity. Not this hollow phantom that couldn't be real. Not this Unbatman. "No no no no no no nonononononono!" He screamed over and over again, finally twisting free and landing on the wet floor of the cave with a splash.

"Joker!"

The madman stopped his unrelenting writhing at the single word. His body went limp as a corpse when the arms engulfed him once again, picking him up, dripping, back into the embrace of his captor. He looked again at the cowled face.

It sported a grimace of frustration and, dare he think it? Remorse. The last time he dared thinking something he died. And came here to a wet, cold hell. He nudged his head into the crook of the wraith's shoulder and continued to stare at it, glassy eyed, as it carried him along, past the raging falls, and into another tunnel that had previously been hidden from view.

He watched the compressed lips turn paler every time his breath hit the figure's chin. And he watched the already ruddy skin tint every time its eyes flicked down to his own. Its eyes were startling, almost grey in the dim light of this subterranean world. Only when they passed a dull light in the wall did the Joker see the true hue of those orbs. They were crystalline blue, flecked with determination and stoicism.

"Bats?" he whispered. The answering grunt told his heart that it was allowed to beat again. So his nemesis HADN'T left him in a pit to rot. "You…don' lib in da sewer…do you?"

A happy grin spread itself across his face like butter on hot toast when his ears detected a poorly disguised snort in reply. He closed his eyes, letting the grin warm him, and decided to let the gentle jerking of footsteps on wet stone lull him back into different hideaways in the recesses of his mind. Everyone bled there.

He was jerked back into reality when the lurching stopped and he was practically tossed back onto the floor. At least it was dry here, though he could still hear the rumbling of the waterfall in the near distance. That point of origin might come in handy later…if only the sweeping nausea would relent for a damn second. The swoop to the floor had definitely not helped his predicament. He crawled until he felt wall, and gingerly propped himself against the freezing stone.

"You'll stay here for now, Joker," a rumbling, uncomfortable voice muttered.

The clown took a moment to inspect the area more fully. The Batman obviously meant the cave chamber-turned-cell that was currently across from him. He could not tell how large the 'room' was because there were no lights inside, and the dim florescent bulbs sporadically decorating the tunnel walls did little to penetrate the darkness. He did see the edge of a thick blanket on the edges of obscurity. "I'm nah geddig 'n dere," he slurred.

Oh yeah. Missing teeth and swollen face.

Must be sexy. Like a dog.

Hence the kennel.

"Only until I secure an acceptable chamber. And you don't have a choice," his nemesis turned 'keeper' deadpanned.

Without further preamble, the Joker was half tossed, half set into the midnight cell and locked in. The floor was covered in blankets, and after groping his way to a wall, he felt a small shelf holding a pitcher of water and a crumbly substance. Maybe bread. He wasn't sure.

What he was sure of was that he was pissed off.

"Batman!" he shrieked, lobbing himself bodily into the metal door. "Let me out! I'll fucking kill you, you son of a bitch! I'll rip your eyes out and wear them as earrings! I'll tear your leg off and shove it up your own ass! I'll fucking kill you! I'll kill you, kill you kill you!"

_Okay, So I am ending up putting A LOT of effort into setting this up. I'm afraid I'm going to bludgeon myself with setting and backdrop, so again, if you have any suggestions I would be happy to hear them. I am actually about halfway finished with 3, so it IS coming._

_Also, was trying to keep it corked up in a single night, but I really don't think it's going to happen. Should I keep it neat or elaborate?_

_I hope you're enjoying my crazy train._


	3. Cast Your Stones

**Rated: T (soon turn M) for violence, cursing, and adult themes.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own copyrights to DC. I just do this for fun and make no money. **

**Chapter 3: Cast Your Stones**

The banging didn't stop. Each thud sounded like a bird hitting the windshield of a car. And the screaming nearly made Bruce lose all of his remorse. The threats had deteriorated into the mantra of 'kill kill kill'.

What had he been thinking? Why had he brought the madman back to his lair? The psycho had been unconscious. He could have dropped his ass off at Arkham and been done with it. He tried to tell himself that he hadn't because it was too risky. No matter how he twisted the scenario around in his head one fact remained clear. He had given Dick's name to the Joker; though the Joker had obviously not understood at the moment.

Bruce shuddered.

_That_ had been disturbing. His skin still burned where the Joker had grabbed him. He felt dirty and, try as he might to release himself of responsibility because God, he had certainly _not _meant for that to happen, he felt ashamed. If the whole situation hadn't been so traumatic he might have laughed about it. In a warped, demented way, he had molested the Joker. Sure, the clown had grabbed _him_, but hadn't he demanded it? At least to the madman it had sounded like it.

The Dark Knight coughed to keep in a laugh. This was truly a dangerous and highly sensitive situation. He needed to deal with it accordingly.

The banging was beginning to diminish as his prisoner began to tire and some distance was being put between the two. He had a small, but well furnished apartment here in his catacombs, but he needed to make some better preparations before it could become a safe prison.

The small group of rooms had recessed lighting in them. There was a utilitarian, stainless steel toilet and a rain faucet that was located in one corner of the bathroom's ceiling as a shower, as well as a simple spouted spigot that flowed into a natural basin in the cave wall for a sink. There was not much he could do about the bathroom. If the Joker was going to drown himself or electrocute Batman in some unusual way, it was just going to have to happen.

The spacious, open room that served as a living and sleeping area, however, was going to be a problem. The mattress had springs in it, the electronics had wires, cables, and material that could be broken and made into shanks, and the entrance was not as well sealed as the emergency storage that his nemesis currently occupied. He would have to strip that whole space and create a make-shift bed for the Joker. The fridge would have to go.

Bruce finally reached the apartment. Looking at the space was much more daunting than thinking about it. The screaming that he could still hear in the distance seemed to have dissipated into half-hearted yelling. And the rooms seemed to envelop and digest all of the sound. He sighed and moved in. He would just chuck most of this stuff in the large closet that took up the space left beside the bathroom. Then seal it with a torch. He'd reopen it later, when this whole mess was over.

The whole removal process took less time than he had previously estimated. There ended up being much less items that actually needed to be moved than he thought. True, there was the fridge, television and accessories, something he hadn't had in place before the boys came into his life, and the bed in its entirety. But once those items were stuffed in the storage closet, there just wasn't much in the room. The room looked more like a square-ish shaped unfinished basement with a functional, fastened, metal table on one wall and recess lighting in the ceiling. Bruce was actually pleased. Or as pleased as he could be in this situation.

When he exited the room into the batcave once more he noticed that all sounds of the Joker had died down. He hoped it was because the clown had worn himself out. He had obtained some nasty blows to the head after all. Batman flinched again, remembering that a couple back teeth _at least_ were gone. There would be swelling, bleeding, and pain that for once, the Joker did not deserve.

He had to put it from his mind for now. A bed without springs. That was the current focus. The only solution he could think of was a makeshift hammock nailed into the rock walls, but he didn't feel entirely comfortable with the thought of his nemesis being in contact with material that he could strangle someone with. Batman sighed. In the end, there would be material that the Joker could use as a murder weapon. He really just had to pick his battles.

Cloth was the lesser evil to metal. A hammock it was.

The detective strode to his central command area, hidden cunningly on the far side of the waterfall. There, he found an old locker that he kept various odd items that he might need in a pinch. After a moment of sorting, he found what he was looking for: an out-dated model of parachute that was retired from service on the Batplane some years ago. The material was strong and durable, but not completely indestructible, should it find its way around his neck by chance.

He grabbed some tools and brought the whole assortment back to the bunker, where he set to work drilling the sturdy fabric straight into the walls, creating a square, taught surface, elevated from the floor about two feet. After checking the resistance, the Batman gingerly slid onto the forgiving surface. If the make-shift bed could hold him, it would definitely hold his enemy. Sometimes it seemed like that man had to weigh eighty pounds soaking wet. After the initial groan of fabric stretching and settling, the hammock steadied nicely around the Caped Crusader. He grunted his approval and slid off the thing.

Enough of the niceties. The serial killer now had a comfortable bed, useable, clean bathroom, and space enough to walk around. Batman was being _more_ than generous.

Now what about the door? It had a small, thick glassed, bulletproof, mirror window that would pose as a serious disadvantage to an outsider, which he would be. He weighed his options. Joker being able to see him coming without Batman actually being able to see into the room…or blowing out the window, creating a hole, too small to get through, but a hole nonetheless. He decided to keep the window. It would be a nightmare replacing it anyway. And the hinges. Would they be a problem? Were the locks secure? Bruce did not feel comfortable keeping the Joker under the home of his family without being sure that he could not escape.

He would just have to play the waiting game. Only time and the Joker would tell.

Decision made, he stepped once more into the apartment-turned-cell and closed the door. A moment later a voice cracked to life in his ear. "Sir, you opened the lines?" Alfred's voice asked expectantly.

"Alfred, I think a vacation is in order for the family."

A pause. "For the _entire_ family, sir?"

"All but one."

"How long will you need, Bruce?"

"I don't know yet, Alfred. We can start with a week, though."

"What about young Master Jason's school?"

"Tutors." Real regret filled the billionaire. He had just adopted Jason. The boy was troubled and needed his mentor. He was adjusting to a new school and a new life. He was still dealing with the grief of losing his family. Bonds needed to be made. Connections. But his family's safety was a must. He couldn't truly devote his focus on his newest stepson if he was constantly looking over his should _in his own house_.

He didn't know who he wanted to punish more, Nightwing or himself.

Himself. Always himself.

He sighed and made one last apology to Alfred before signing off. It was time to retrieve the Joker. For how long he wasn't sure. He was sure, however, that it couldn't be for forever. The law must always be upheld in the end. And kidnapping was against the law. He would have to turn over the Joker to the proper authorities at some point. He would need a plan to convince the Joker not to use his stepson's name. He cursed himself again. _Stupid_.

He thought hard while making his way back to the clown's impromptu, and now silent, cell. What did he have going for him? Well, the Joker was crazy for one. He would need to try and twist the madman's mind around. He would never succeed in convincing his prisoner to uphold any moral obligations. He would need to convince him that he hadn't heard what he thought he had. Or he had interpreted everything inappropriately.

But that was the problem. The Joke _had_ interpreted the name incorrectly.

The potential solution to Batman's crisis stuck him with a wave of cold horror. The Joker had misconstrued his demand. He hadn't recognized the name for what it was. At least not at the time. The detective was sure he would soon realize what the word had meant, if he hadn't already. For all of his madness, the Joker was cunning and intelligent. That intelligence was just taken in irrational directions. The man would know the name was a name…unless proven otherwise.

Bruce swallowed, pausing at the door. It came down to how far he was willing to go to protect his family. He knew he was willing to do anything. Anything but break his one rule. There was always another way. Murder was never the only option.

He exercised controlled breathing for a moment, hand still clutching the handle of the door. He switched on his night vision and peered in through the small, barred opening set into the thick door. The Joker was sprawled out upon the nest of blankets that Batman had hurriedly thrown into the empty room. The pitcher was on its side in the floor, water soaking into the nearest bundle of cloth. He couldn't see the bread anywhere. He could only guess it had been chucked unceremoniously at the door and landed outside of his field of vision.

The Joker was breathing, but not moving.

Batman carefully unlocked the door and let it slowly open just enough to step through.

The Joker still didn't move.

The Dark Knight moved into the room, locking the door once more behind him, sealing himself in with the madman. Then he moved over the sprawled body and leaned cautiously over it, not touching.

He could see why his prisoner was not moving against him, and it gave his stomach knots. The clown's normally long, slim face was covered in blood. His mouth was shockingly swollen on one side, so much so that his lips no longer pressed together in a smile, but turned outward, revealing gum and teeth. The effect was a contorted grimace of pain. His hands were now mangled and bloody as well. The cuffs that were still around his wrists were dark with blood from being jerked and rubbed against raw flesh. The detective was not sure if the blood in Joker's hair was all from his scalp injury, or if any of it had been contracted from gnarled fingers running through green locks. If it _was_ from the head injury, there was fresh bleeding there.

Feeling more confident that the clown was not playing at anything, Batman carefully placed his arms under the Joker's knees and back, and lifted him easily into an embrace. He would clean this mangled heap of flesh up before he left him. It was the only just thing he could do. He turned with the clown in his arms and left the cell.

He wasn't sure what made him feel sicker; what he had done or what he was about to do.

_Okay, brief timeline so far:_

_ 4:00 pm – Finds message_

_ 7-8:00 pmish – Meets Joker_

_ 11:00 pm – Joker wakes up_

_ 1:00 am – Takes Joker to finished cell_

_ Something like that. _

_Oh Bruce, you've found yourself between a rock and a hard place, eh? (Pun intended?) Just remember, you're doin' it for your boys. Lol_

_Oh, and there is going to be no rape. Bats doesn't play that way. He may have to utilize a lil' bit o' Bruce Wayne to make this work, though…_


	4. Gratuitous Shower Scene

_Look at me actually following through and updating a story. __ I'm so proud of myself! I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's been my favorite to write so far._

_Note: I kind of just wrote this one and posted it very quickly so I apologize for any roughness this chapter might contain._

**Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't make money.**

**Rating: M for a lot of adult themes and nudity. Lol**

**Chapter 3.5: Gratuitous Shower Scene**

In the end, Batman ripped the rucked up clothes off of the unconscious Joker. Try as he might, the clothes peeled more blood and newly forming scab off the man than what was safe. He hadn't any plans to wash them, either. Neither Bruce nor Batman was much for laundry. No time. Or patience. Or desire. Also, despite his remorse over the current situation, he relished the thought of all the anger that plain, simple clothes would cause his nemesis.

He tried not to focus on the vulnerability of his nemesis. Batman would personally ensure his own death before he _ever_ allowed himself to be caught within his enemy's clutches in such a way. Lucky for the Joker he was the _good_ guy.

He had all of the clown's clothes peeled off and in a soggy pile in the bathroom floor within a minute. The heap of clothes was shocking to behold; what once were bright purple yellow, and green fine fabrics were now browning, crusty rags. But the clothes were not as shocking as the Joker himself.

Bruce had always wondered if the madman's outrageously white skin was make-up or an (un)natural pigmentation condition. Now, as the detective was stepping back from the limp form propped up against the rough cave wall in the shower location, he could see that every inch of his enemy's skin held the same ghostly pallor. If he hadn't just felt the clown's breath on his neck when he tugged the bedraggled slacks off, he would swear that the man was long dead.

He also noticed that no hair grew on the Joker's body except for his head. He ignored the heat in his face at this discovery. Whatever had happened to this creature to make him the way he was must have seriously damaged his anatomy. And his mind. The Batman forced himself to turn away from the nude form before him and focus on readying the water temperature and pressure from the rain faucet. He did not want to take any more of the Joker's blood than had already been exsanguinated.

When the water was at temperature, the faucet activated itself and Batman was confronted with an unforeseen problem. He was being soaked along with the Joker. With a quick click at his neck, the cape dropped heavily to the floor. He couldn't afford any other comfort. If the Joker woke up from the water then he _had_ to be ready for combat.

Though the water only reached the clown's bottom half, the water was already rushing down the drain in dark reds and browns. Batman allowed his eyes to once again drift to the unconscious man on the floor of his shower. He focused mostly on the color of the water, but knew he had to stay wary of any signs of life coming from his enemy. The Joker was known to play games. It was his way.

It was only when the warm water was beginning to run clear again that he focused on the skin of the Joker's legs. What the detective had once thought was dirt was now revealed to be old scars and bruises still healing from past fights with him and other, unknown antagonists. Batman wondered who was crazy enough to attempt combat with the Joker…other than himself. He was sure that the different stages of healing were not all correspondent from his encounters only. Despite himself, a flare of rage shot through him at the thought of his nemesis being attacked by anyone else. The Joker was never going to reform if he was constantly being reaffirmed by more violence from others.

The water was running clear now.

Bruce crept away from his vantage point of the clown and gingerly picked the limp body up under his armpits from behind, lifting him from against the wall to a nearly standing position. Then he carefully tipped the man's head back against his shoulder and dragged the body to fully encounter the running water.

It was difficult to have the battered face so close to his own, but it was also the only way to ensure the Joker did not accidentally drown. Faint breath was hitting his cheek again as he propped the form against himself with one arm, freeing the other to gently wash the superfluous fluids from the pale chest.

He tried not to dwell on the highly irregular situation he had put himself in as he finished gently scrubbing away the blood without adding to the bruising or lesions. Then he stepped further into the flow of water to rinse the green hair trying to stick to his Kevlar. He turned the clown's face further towards his own to keep water from finding its way down unwary cranial passages and tried to rub some of the dried blood from the green curls.

His gloves couldn't get through the thick tresses without being caught in the curls by the spikes and batterangs embedded in the Kevlar. Irritated, he gripped one finger in his teeth and pulled the offending glove off with a quick yank. His rough palm looked dark and weathered, and almost old against the Joker's pale skin.

He tried to ignore the question of age that their flesh brought up, and clumsily raked his fingers through the Joker's hair. The clearing water immediately darkened again as clumps of old blood washed out and onto the floor, then brightened as the disturbance reopened some recent injuries to a bright crimson. The color rushing down the drain in the floor almost matched the slightly smiling lips resting against his armored chest. Afraid of blood loss, he pulled the two of them back out of the flow of water and tilted the clown's face up towards his own.

The swelling was decreasing slightly from the warm water, but his face was still ghastly. Batman took his ungloved hand and made a textural examination of the facial injuries. The Joker's nose was broken and slightly crooked. The detective could feel the crack high in his enemy's cartilage. The wound was also blackening the pale man's eyes, but no other injuries seemed to be present above the mouth.

A knot twisted inside of him when he began to feel the contour of his enemy's lips with a bare finger. They were chapped and split in many places, all at various stages of healing. And there was the one swollen gash still bleeding from their altercation earlier in the evening. The same side was also swollen to an alarming size from the destructive loss of teeth Bruce had provided. With gentle fingers, he softly rubbed the blood away from the Joker's lips and chin until the pale skin was once again predominant on his face. Blue and purple were also prevailing shades on the side of his face.

Batman was making one last compulsory search of the battered face with his fingers when he felt the previously limp body stiffen. His eyes darted from the ruby lips and up into wild green, widening eyes as he jerked his hand away from the madman's face.

Joker's body was taught as a bowstring in his arms. Batman watched the green eyes slowly focus on his face.

And the two stared at each other for an endless moment.

"Fuck…"

The rough, breathy word uttered by the Joker immediately broke any spell that had temporarily transfixed the two men. Joker lunged, swinging his free arm over to punch his enemy, and the Batman let him go. He inwardly winced when he heard a sharp crack as the Joker hit the floor. He had landed on his coccyx and immediately curled up on his side in a ball, wailing.

Bruce sighed in resignation. He just couldn't do anything right tonight.

Treating the Joker as a wounded animal, he crouched down to make eye contact with the cowering man. Hesitantly, he reached out and put his ungloved hand on the man's shoulder. The action caused both men to start in surprise. The detective had forgotten about his glovelessness in the action of the previous moments. He decided to work with it. "Joker, I'm not going to hurt you," he rumbled deliberately.

"Fuck you," the madman spat, shrugging off his hand, "Whadyoo fuckin' doo a' me?"

Hateful, accusing eyes met Bruce's in a challenge. Guilt turned to indignation at the implied accusation being thrown by the wild, green glare. "I cleaned you up, psycho," he replied bitterly, and tried to inch closer to the increasingly agitated looking clown. "You need to hold still and let me help you, or you're going to make things worse."

The Joker did not hold still. He pressed himself flat against the rough corner of the shower wall and curled in on himself tighter, hissing with every inch that Batman closed. "Imma kill you," he jeered, "Imma rip yur froat out and bathe innur blood."

Bruce let him talk, and ignored the words. If words helped the Joker cope he could do all the talking he wanted. What the Dark Knight didn't like was the way sharp emerald eyes darted over the room looking for escape. He hadn't locked the door to the apartment when they had entered earlier. He hadn't had a free hand. Now he regretted it deeply.

He was further troubled when the jeering stopped and a huge grin plastered itself onto the pale man's face. He was so close to the Joker that he could nearly grab him; he just needed a few more inches.

"Like wha'you see?" the madman's high voice cooed through the terrifying grin, stopping Batman in his tracks, "You wanna _hurt_ me, Ba'man? You wan' me to _scream_?"

Revulsion coursed through the detective. What had this madman lived through? He opened his mouth to attempt another reassurance, but was cut off by high, reeling laughter.

"Well I _won'_, Bat'man! I'll only laugh! Ha ha ha hee hee hee…"

And the wailing reached a crescendo, echoing madly around the cave walls. Batman finally lunged at the Joker, grabbing him around his pale, bare arms and tackling him to the floor. His prisoner took most of the force of the impact and went limp once more.

Bruce held himself atop the Joker for several moments judging whether the man was playing at unconsciousness or not, before finally relinquishing his hold. The pale body toppled once again, sprawling in its final position. He watched it for a moment before burying his face in his hands, letting the cooling water rush over his armored body.

_Rape and sexual abuse make me sick with anger and disgust. That being said, there has _got_ to be some fucked up shit in the Joker's past. _

_This started out as a very short ficlet inside the fic (hence chapter 3.5), but man did it grow! _

_Note: The body hair thing. This is just an assumption on my part. It sort of makes sense, right? If you know anything about the character that's different, please let me know. In fact, if you know any good Joker info websites. Everything I know I learned from comics or movies. I certainly don't know much, much less everything. Send me some good links!_

_Note Note: Just watched __**Rise of the Guardians**__ for the first time. Why is there not more "black ice" fiction out there? If you know any good Jack/Pitch stories please send me the link to those, too! Much appreciated!_


	5. Hotel California

_Had about half a chapter written and just hated every word. Re-did it and feel much better. Hope you enjoy. :)_

**Rating: M for language, violence, and adult themes?**

**Disclaimer: Don't own. Making no money. The usual thing.  
**

**CHAPTER 4: HOTEL CALIFORNIA**

Joker didn't want to wake up again. Every time he did, something completely unexpected and not completely consensual was happening. The thing about reality was that it was so...predictable. But so far tonight nothing had gone the way he expected it would in reality. The whole situation was throwing off his flow.

For all he knew he was actually at Arkham and that looney blond doctor was doing another one of those experiments. The ones he signed off on for playing cards or a spoon to eat with. Sometimes he wondered if he was getting jipped. They always took his stuff away again when _one little person_ got hurt.

Batman had often starred in his trips down Drug Drive, as he had labeled it, but never so vividly. He wondered if the big bad bat would be naked and doing the Macarena when next he opened his eyes. It seemed to be the logical step in this whole experience. Bat-shit insane would be the description. He smiled and peeked.

He saw the roof of a cavern glaring at him with lights.

He closed his eyes again to assess. Okay. Again, should have, but didn't expect that. Things were moving along swimmingly. He opened his eyes again to acquaint himself and find an exit. There was _always_ an exit.

He was laying in the center of...a tarp. He tried to roll over to gain some stability and climb out of his rough nest, but his knees slid around on his white cotton pants and his arms ached. He landed face first into the rough material.

"Fuckin' Ay," he hissed, rolling back over onto his back again and bringing his shaky hands up to feel his face. It was all lumpy and squishy and shit. Not his favorite look.

He laid back for a moment longer before working up the stamina to try again. He was thirsty. Major blood loss did that sometimes. He turned over again, more carefully, and slid on his stomach to the edge of the tarp, mostly losing his stupid pants.

He tumbled ungracefully off the edge and was surprised that the floor came up to meet him like an old friend. Lying on his back again, he pulled his pants back over his thin hips and looked up at the bed, for lack of a better word, he had just escaped from. It was just a shelf of fabric nailed into the cave walls a foot or two off the ground. Clever, clever Bats.

Satisfied, he rolled over on the sturdier surface of the cavern floor to suss out his surroundings. They were pretty boring. Table and stool, door, sealed door, and entrance to the toilet.

He pulled himself up and off the floor using the edge of the tarp. He hoped the bathroom would have a sink. Water. Needed it. Now. He weaved on unstable legs to the threshold of the bathroom and leaned against the entrance like a drunk. Then he couldn't go any further.

The corner where the shower was located glared accusingly at him. The floor was still damp, and the stone was uncomfortably cool because of it.

So he hadn't been tripping balls.

A force he couldn't control urged him suddenly to that corner, where he sat heavily in the bend he had tried to take shelter in before. Nothing much was different, except he was wearing pants now. And he was alone. And the shower was off.

So everything was different.

Joker couldn't decide if he was more turned on or fucking angry as fucking _hell_ at what had happened. Why would the Dark Knight be bathing his unconscious body and fondling his face? It was just...weird.

He brought his knees up into his chest and wrapped his long, thin arms around them, creating a boney bed to lay his swollen face. He closed his eyes again to help him think, but all he could focus on was the damp smell of cave and something else. Something earthy and bitter and Batman. So he opened his eyes again.

And stared down between his legs at the dark, wet floor. But all he could focus on were his white cotton pants. They were trying to stick to his skin and the contact with the floor was adding a quality of transparency to them. Not that his skin was much darker than them. He closed his eyes again so he wouldn't have to see himself.

He found himself remembering their last encounter and sneered. He hadn't felt so vulnerable in a long time. Damn that fucking bat. Joker had been forced to visit a dark place. He wasn't sure where or what it was, but it wasn't okay.

He hated himself for the jumble of emotions trying to overcome him. He could normally just satisfy any urge that held his attention, but this was different. Hate and disgust mingled with lust and self-loathing.

He shook his head to rid himself of what he was feeling, and when it didn't work he screamed, grabbing two handfuls of green hair and pulling. The pain gave him something else to focus on. He would rip every tuft of hair out of his head if it would rid him of his hazy, confused thoughts.

His eyes watered when his hands began to ache and sharp tendrils of pain radiated out from the wounds in his scalp. He smiled. It was like a light show on his head. He could just see the cracks of lightning sparking across the skin, dancing between the follicles of his hair.

"Joker?" a quiet, rasping voice interrupted from the other room.

The clown dropped his hands and giggled, forgetting what he had been doing. His host was here to visit. Before he could make himself more presentable, the dark figure enveloped the entrance to the bathroom. Crystal blue eyes peered curiously back at his own green stare from the floor.

He watched them flick over his curled form and back to his face. "Like what you see?" he quipped, and then winced. That rang with a negative familiarity. Evidently for both of them because his foe colored beneath the cowl.

"I brought you some water and food," the Dark Knight mumbled, then looked back down at the joker's unkempt form, "and another change of clothes." He turned and disappeared back into the adjoining chamber.

Joker couldn't help rolling his eyes. If Bats wasn't going to be better company he was going to go crazy. Ha.

He scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could and staggered into the next room after his captor. "So that's how you work, eh Bat Brain? Dinner comes AFTER the show," he joked, sliding onto the table partially for more attention and because his legs couldn't hold him any longer.

The same pitcher of water was brimming, and a tall sandwich sat next to his face. He tilted his head a little and thumbed through the sandwich like a pack of cards, pulling the dark brown meat out of it and slinging it to the floor. Only then did he slide it closer to his face before taking a big bite out of it.

"That was the only protein. You needed that," his audience growled.

"It was boring. I like the colors," Joker replied smartly, stuffing another bite of tomato, pickle, and rye into his mouth with a shit-eating grin. When he finished chewing, he reached for the pitcher like a dying man. Well, he sort of was, so it was okay. He took the pitcher and gulped down mouthful after mouthful of icy cold water before putting it back down to take a gasping breath. A third of the container was now empty.

He crawled down off the table and stared down into the tiny lake of liquid and tried to decide what to do next. He wasn't going to escape with the bat breathing down his neck, and he was too weak to wrestle right now. Besides, he didn't think he was ready for any physical contact with his nemesis right now. He was still too raw.

"Leave me alone," he muttered to his reflection in the pitcher.

"What?"

He knew the sentiment. He hated being alone. But what else was there to do right now? "Don't know," he replied.

"Joker, you're injured and dehydrated. Finish the pitcher of water and I'll leave you alone," Batman reasoned.

Hm, there was a lot of water left. He picked up the pitcher again and took another couple gulps, then set it back down again. It didn't look any different. And so what if it did? Batman was lying to him. If he finished the water there would just be something else he would have to do. What would be required next?

He picked the pitcher up and threw it against the wall, laughing wildly. Water splashed his face and ran down the rocky wall in a torrent, soaking the new clothes on the table and running back across the surface and into his lap. He screamed at the stinging contact and jumped back, toppling the stool and landing on his back.

He had to resist the urge to curl in on himself when Batman's shadow fell over him, looking down on him. Instead he spread himself out fully and lazily pulled his arms behind his head and crossed one leg over the other, taking on a fully relaxed position. He grinned broadly. That always intimidated folks. "It's gone," he drawled.

His grin broadened into true glee when his foe actually squeezed the bridge of his cowled nose in frustration.

"Sometimes, Joker..." The thought died on the growling breath.

"Sometimes what, Batsy?" he grinned wolfishly, "Sometimes you ride your bicycle to work? You think about getting a dog? You dress in women's clothing? You get that REALLY annoying song in your head and just. can't. get rid of it?" He rolled his gaze to the top of his vision to see those blue eyes. "...Sometimes you think ol' Richard's not worth it?"

Ah. What was that in those beautiful eyes? Recognition? Surprise? Fear?

"Who's Richard? Do you have a hostage somewhere, Joker?" Batman demanded.

Hmm, ploy or true ignorance? Joker couldn't decide. Time to probe a little deeper. "Oh I don't know. Why did you beat the shit out of me, for no reason I might add!"

His enemy's normally fierce, determined gaze left his face. "You're scum and deserved it. I did my job," the Dark Knight replied.

_Oh Bats, is that how you really feel? Then why can't you look at me and say that? Lack conviction?_ What a weak lie. It was almost insulting. "Yeah? Doesn't really explain all of those pesky questions before said beating, lover. How would _Dick_ feel if he knew you were so unfaithful?" The smirk he wore like a mask stung his face. Joker honestly didn't care who Dick was, he just knew that he had to _go_. He was almost too busy fantasizing about nasty tactics to use on his mysterious rival to catch the next admission.

"That wasn't...a person's name," his favorite vigilante mumbled.

Joker's mind stumbled over itself and fell over in shock. "The fuck's that supposed to mean? What else could it be? Just admit you fucked up and let me kill this guy. You know it's coming. I know it's coming. Just go with it, Bats." He was proud of the confidence in his own voice, but he couldn't tear his eyes off of the masked face if he tried.

"Not what _you_ thought, was it psycho?" Batman growled. His mouth was curled in disgust and his skin was reddening.

Joker screamed out a laugh. Just, just everything. Oh fucking Jesus and Mary. Was his Bats trying...trying to say...trying to admit... Oh what a fucking riot! Really, if it wasn't all just such a big fucking JOKE he would pull the Batman's beating heart out of his armored chest. "You...you want all...all this?" he wheezed between shuddering breaths, flailing his arms wildly over his sprawled body.

His pants were soaked through and he was fucking freezing. He was skeletal and puffy and bruised. His green hair was curling and sodden and he just _couldn't _stop the screaming laughter. If Batman was implying that he had _wanted _Joker to feel him up then this clown was a French nun. Hell, if he hadn't been so bewildered at the time he would have laughed then, too.

"What's so funny?" the dark voice snapped.

Joker's jaw snapped shut and he bounded to his feet, whirling around and charging his enemy. Before the bat could react he had him tumbled onto the tarp, struggling to prop himself up from his back. He leapt upon his captor, pinning him against the fabric. He planted his hips on Batman's armored pelvis and squeezed his legs together to maintain balance. He couldn't help curling over the black clad figure to get a closer look at his angry blue eyes. He brought his long, bruised fingers up to hold the masked face still.

"You are, darling," he whispered. He couldn't help flicking his gaze down to the pale line of his enemy's mouth. "You are just a _riot_." Taut muscles below him tensed further when he brought his face closer to his Bat's. He rubbed his swollen cheek luxuriously against the rough stubble that wasn't covered by mask and breathed out slowing against the side of Batman's head. That's why we will last forever," he sighed, "You always know how to make me laugh. Ha ha ha hee hee heee..."

He was too lost in another fit of giggles to be much bothered when his nemesis threw him across the room. Tears were rolling down his cheeks he laughed so hard at the sight of Batman scrambling off the hammock and stomping to the door.

The entrance slammed shut and clicked, locking him in and alone with his thoughts again.

_Author's Note: Look. Updated. I just love writing from the Joker's POV. It's so much fun. We all have a bit of a psycho in us, don't you think?_

_Okay, so Bruce, bless him, is trying to implement plan: mess with the crazy guy's head. Just in case their interaction was confusing…_

_R&R. I appreciate it!_


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